


Once Upon a Time at the Stark Ski Resort

by desla_be



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, One Shot, SanSan Secret Santa, Sandor happy, Sandor is a dumb bitch who can’t catch a hint, Sansa in charge, Snow, Snowboarding lesson, he also doesn’t know how words work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28220046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desla_be/pseuds/desla_be
Summary: After years of co-volunteering at a local animal shelter together, Sandor gets invited to a private snowboarding lesson by Sansa at the Stark Ski Resort.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Once Upon a Time at the Stark Ski Resort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFlirtMeister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlirtMeister/gifts).



> thank you so much to @rayne11 for reading this beforehand to tell me it wasn’t shite and also for being my friend <3

Sandor passed a small cream-colored card across the desk to a very disinterested receptionist, who only stared back with a blank expression. 

“Well?” said Sandor. 

“You’re here for a snowboarding lesson with Sansa Stark?” said the man across the desk. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying for the past fifteen fu—” he sighed, “for the past fifteen minutes.” 

“Uh huh,” the man mumbled, trading glances between Sandor and the little white card. “Sansa Stark as in, _Stark Ski Resort_ Stark?” 

Sandor rubbed one of his temples, leaning his elbows on the desk. “The one and fucking only,” he said, almost amused by the receptionist’s baffled expression, although he was too annoyed to enjoy it properly. 

“Right,” replied the receptionist. “And you’re saying that she offered you a ‘private lesson’?”

“That’s what I’m saying, you wanker. That’s what I’ve been saying since I walked in!”

“Sandor?” came a voice behind him. 

Sandor spun around and there Sansa was by the door, dressed in baggy pink snow pants and a white ski jacket. Shiny hair pooled out of her helmet and rested around her shoulders while clunky boots covered her feet. Her snowboard rested under her arm. 

“Sansa,” he took his hand back from the desk to wave at her, wondering if he looked all right and trying not to smile. It was somewhat shocking to him that she was even here, truthfully, despite it being her family’s lodge, and despite the fact that she’d invited him on this little excursion. He wondered if he looked all right; today would’ve been a good day to actually look in the mirror before leaving the house. Goddammit, he could’ve at least made sure that his hair looked nice. 

“He’s saying you’ve offered him a private lesson,” came the receptionist’s annoying voice again as he waved the card with Sansa’s name on it, “but I told him that you’re not one of our instructors.”

“Usually I don’t instruct, but he’s my friend,” she smiled, carrying her snowboard closer, and Sandor had to break eye contact. “Ready?” 

A little ball of pride grew in his chest at the mention of ‘friend’, which was much more intimate than ‘co-volunteer at the animal shelter’. Sandor nodded, wondering if the title made her feel just as warm and bubble. 

“Right,” glared the man behind the desk, staring at the computer in front of him, “so our private lessons are usually—”

“No need for that,” said Sansa. “As I said, I don’t usually instruct so it’s really just us hanging out.” 

Sandor teetered on his feet. His phone vibrated in his pocket; no doubt it was another raunchy text from Bronn, the fifth joke today since he knew Sandor was coming here. The previous text he’d sent regarding very risqué activities had nearly made Sandor too nervous to get out of his car. He wouldn’t open this text— not now that he was with Sansa, as it would surely jinx him. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course,” she nodded towards the door. 

He reached across the desk and snatched the cream-colored card from the receptionist’s hand. “I’ll be having this back,” he tucked it into his pocket. That card had Sansa’s handwriting on it— her ‘Sansa Stark’ written in loopy cursive and wrapped in two hearts. Two hearts that she’d drawn for him, and an _xox_ too! There was no way he was leaving such a precious token of her affection here. 

In a box of various memorabilia on his nightstand, he also had a handmade card from her for his twenty-seventh birthday, a Polaroid from her camera of all the volunteers at the animal shelter they worked at, and a dried, shriveled flower that she’d tucked behind his ear as a joke one day that he couldn’t bring himself to throw away, even as it had long since become brown and crunchy. 

Sandor grabbed his rented snowboard and ran after her, out the big wooden door of the lodge. 

The sun was a painful weapon against his eyes, even through the awful yellow ski goggles strapped over his helmet. Drinking as much as he did the previous night had been a horrible idea, but knowing that he was going to be at a crowded ski resort all day... with her… all day… and she’d be teaching him how to fucking _snowboard_ — Falling asleep hadn’t been easy, to say the least. 

Of course, now he could feel everything, unfortunately. Everything from his fading headache, to the chill in his toes through the snowboarding boots, to the discomfort of the snow pants that didn’t quite fit, to the goosebumps on his arm when Sansa brushed up against it as they walked to wherever the fuck she was taking him. 

“I’m happy you could come,” she said. 

“Well, you know me. Never one to miss out on extreme sports with loads of other people around to spectate,” he mused. 

“And you already have your rentals,” she glanced at his boots. “And you said that you’ve never been snowboarding before?” 

“Never.” 

“All right, well we’ll start off by getting you used to moving around on the board and then we can go onto the lift.”

They walked over to an even, snowy spot that led to a slow decline down by some sort of conveyor belt contraption. People on skis and snowboards were staggering onto the conveyor belt, which ultimately brought them back up to the central lift areas. 

She showed him how to strap his boot (just one for now) onto the board by demonstrating with her own. 

Once his foot locked into place, the straps pulled tight, Sandor looked around him, at the swarms of people nearby skiing along outside the lodge, skating down the slopes, or going up the lift with their legs dangling in the air. His head spun; this was a much bigger crowd than he was used to. He looked down at his feet again and wiggled his leg, watching the board follow him where they connected. 

Sandor stared for a moment at the soft yellow sunlight and turquoise waves on his snowboard, thoroughly entranced until Sansa’s electric touch interrupted him, her chubby mitten latching onto his forearm. 

“Are you okay?” she looked up in concern. 

“Fine,” Sandor shrugged, swiveling his foot again and listening for the swish of the waxy wood against the snow. Her thumb pushed into his arm softly, but the sensation was painfully acute. “Just not used to this many people.” 

Sansa’s eyes softened, and she removed her hand from his arm. “If only we got this many people at the shelter.”

She spent the next twenty minutes gliding slowly on the small decline, one foot attached to the board, one foot free for kicking off. It was just like skateboarding, it seemed, which Sandor wasn’t very familiar with either. 

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, perhaps too excited to hear the sound of her voice. He was much less excited about what they were actually doing. 

Sansa looked up at the sky in thought, and then back at him. “Fifteen years or so.” 

During the time that they spent traversing the snow, he, to his utmost disbelief, didn’t fall once. Not once! He wasn’t exactly graceful, or even relatively elegant with his motions, but he made it across the hill successfully each time she led him to, which he supposed was the important part. 

“You’re doing so well!” Sansa beamed as they walked back up from the bottom of the decline, obviously pleased with her snowboard-instructing prowess. “Now we’ll see how you do with both feet locked in.” 

Oh, well that sounded promising. 

They made it back to the top after a minute, where Sandor leaned over to strap his other boot onto the board, his heart racing because of her praise but never completely satisfied, no matter how many times she patted his shoulder in approval. 

He managed getting one foot through the rigid plastic straps and onto the base of the board, but when he bent down to lock the second boot into place, the board slipped back from under him and the ground came up to catch him. The snow was _not_ as pillowy as it looked. Sandor hovered above the cold, braced on his arms and panting. The first fall of the day and his knees were already throbbing.

Sansa, one foot still locked into that godforsaken death trap, didn’t waste any time staggering closer to him, her board following. She rushed over to him, and he wondered for an instant why he was doing this. He knew he wasn’t good at shit like this. Extreme sports? Fucking come on. 

Would it have been a better, _safer_ idea to just ask her on a date? Dinner, or something? Certainly— but doing that would require him to actually _ask_ her to an event, which he was incapable of. She’d saved him the trouble by inviting him to this lesson, and that way she could continue being beautiful and brilliant, and he could continue being a gutless idiot— the universe would remain balanced. At least they were spending time together, Sandor thought, his shins recovering from the sting of falling over, time that wasn’t filling food and water bowls or cleaning out the cages of the animals at their shelter. 

He helped himself to sit up before she could try to assist him. At the very least he could pick himself up off the ground. 

Sansa’s goggles were up on the top of her helmet, and her pretty blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. She pursed her lips at him. “So like I demonstrated,” she began, “you should, um, strap your boots in sitting down. Because otherwise…” 

“Got it,” Sandor mumbled, throwing his legs out in front of him and lining the board up under his feet. Sansa stood by, accessible but not overbearing as he, mustering up all of his patience, pulled the straps in and locked the second boot onto the board. 

“May I?” she asked, pointing to his feet. 

Sandor nodded, and she bent down in front of him in the snow. Her fingers dug between his boots and the straps that secured them in place, clearly testing whether they were tight enough. He couldn’t feel her very well through the thick plastic, but the sensation was certainly there, small as it was, but not too small to keep a warmth from stirring him. 

“Well done,” she smiled, and there was a pang in his chest. “Cool, so now you can roll over so that your toe-edge is against the snow, and help yourself up to stand.”

Sandor did as she said, struggling very much to roll onto his other side now that his feet were spaced two feet apart by a seven-foot fucking snowboard. Eventually, however, he managed. With a grunt he began to push himself off the ground, seesawing back and forth a bit as he attempted to still, and ultimately— _shockingly—_ succeeding. 

Immediately he started to wobble, unsure of what to do as the board started moving as it sat flat on the snow’s surface. For a horrible moment he thought he was going to fall over again— and wouldn’t that have been humiliating, two times in two minutes!— but Sansa’s hands shot out to catch him. 

The barriers (their collective gloves) dulled the sensations between their fingers, but not so much that her small touches didn’t send tremors through his body. 

A long moment of silence passed where they both simply stared at where their hands connected, until Sandor mumbled out a ‘thanks’ and retook control of his balance.

From there, they must’ve spent forty-five minutes just trying to get him to change edges. _Toe to heel, heel to toe_ , Sansa would say— _like this_. With an annoying amount of ease, she’d swivel and her board would twist to the other edge, and her backside (which he was maybe guilty of checking out a few too many times) would be to him, and a moment later she’d swivel again and her beautiful face would appear again, concentrated on the snow above her while he watched in awe. 

He fell more times than he could count, but by the end of the forty-five minutes, Sandor could perform very unsteady and graceless turns, sliding clumsily down the shallow decline while she observed his movement. 

Her reactions were really all that got him to keep going, again and again down that small little hill while he fell over and over again, hitting every end of his body repeatedly. It was hearing her say ‘one more time!’ and skating over to help him up when he tumbled that encourage him not to give up. 

The first time he’d managed to make it all the way to the bottom of the poor excuse for a hill, Sansa had clapped for him. Clapped for him! For _him_! His ass was so fucking sore from the times that he’d fallen but the sound of her mittens clapping together in approval was enough validation for him to ignore the pain. All of his limbs would ache in the morning, and he’d take some Tylenol and whine about it to his dog. For now, however, he’d go down this fucking decline eighty more times, listening to her clap for him as he progressed and became more comfortable with these motions. 

Sansa swiveled down on her board to meet him at the bottom of the hill. 

“Sandor!” she said, reaching out for his arms. “That was amazing! You didn’t fall once that time,” she praised, “or the time before that! I think you’re ready to try the bunny hill. Want to take a little break and then go up?” 

_A break_ , Sandor breathed, still beaming because she said he did an amazing job and because her hands on his arms felt very nice. _A fucking_ break _. Yes._ He nodded, and they unbuckled from their snowboards and strode back up to the lodge. 

They settled down at a two-person table in the lounge area; Sansa went up to the counter and Sandor struggled to divest himself of his helmet, gloves, and coat. The lodge was themed like a log cabin, rustic wooden walls and high ceilings, big, central fireplaces. It was cosy, even for him. 

She appeared from the corner a moment later with a big red mug in each hand. A sunny smile flirted with her cheeks as she walked back to him, her boots thudding on the floor. 

“Cocoa?” said Sansa, placing a steaming mug in front of him before sitting down. Before he could even look into his cup she was spreading out a handful of candy canes onto the table between them.

“Thanks.” There was a mountain of whipped cream on top, and what looked like… cinnamon? It was too hot to drink immediately, so instead he stayed still, watching as she removed her own helmet, gloves, and coat and seated herself before him. 

“You were at the shelter this past week, huh?” she asked, bringing her cup close to her face and sucking out some of the whipped cream. 

Sandor nodded, watching as the whipped cream melted into a frothy pool. “Oh shit, yeah, I almost forgot— you weren’t in at all.” He didn’t forget— her absence had been clearly, painfully apparent. 

“Any news on Gret—”

“She’s still there,” the hope disappeared from her face, and he almost wished he had lied and made up details for a faux adoption. “But there’s still time,” he added. “Marge redesigned more drafts of our ads, so once those are posted, interest will probably spike.” Being hopeful was emotionally taxing for him after several years of his hopes falling through, but it was almost bearable for that small sparkle on her face. 

Sansa’s lips tugged, “You’re probably right,” and she took a tentative sip of her hot chocolate. A moment later, her satisfaction had disappeared and she looked at him sadly, her brows drawing in to plead. “You know I’d adopt her myself if I could,” she said softly, “of course I’d do it myself… but I can’t take care of a dog right now, especially not one with the severity of her needs.” 

“You know you’re not the only one who’d take her in if you could.” 

“I know,” she agreed, clutching her cup closer. “What about—”

“Toby?” he asked, trying to keep his mouth from twisting up into a smile. “Well. A couple came in the other day, and they’ve begun filing to adopt him.” 

Her eyes went as big as saucers and her hand shot out to clamp over his. At the contact, a pang shot through his chest, which travelled all the way down to his toes in an instant. It was a lot different… like this, from how their hands had touched through the gloves outside. They’d shared physical contact before, of course, but those occurrences were just high fives, or small pats on the shoulder, or the littlest of sensations as they exchanged materials at work. There was one hug— a very quick arm around his shoulder at the shelter one day, but that was all that was even remotely similar to her manicured hand on his oversized paw. 

“That’s incredible!” Sansa’s smile was bright, and he was so pleased with himself for being responsible for it. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, shifting awkwardly in his seat as he tried not to stare too long at where her hand covered his. Butterflies swarmed his stomach while he waited to see if she was going to break their contact.

Was this a good time to ask her to dinner? Sandor tapped his foot beneath the table. He’d never asked anyone to dinner before, what was he supposed to say? And what if she said no?— Would she take her hand off of his? Would she want him to leave? He didn’t like either of those possibilities! Fuck, this was complicated. Maybe later he would ask, he decided, but not now.

Her hand stayed on top of his, her thumb shifting very faintly over the crevice between his thumb and forefinger, and he wondered if he’d made the right choice. 

Sandor struggled to look at anything that wasn’t her painted fingernails. “The cocoa is really good,” he said, settling his gaze into the cup. If he had an ounce of courage, he would’ve told her how pretty she was right then, but the unpredictability of saying something like that to her took all his bravery away. 

“It’s a family recipe,” said Sansa, and he could see her in his peripheral vision staring at his hand. Just when his heart was slowing to a somewhat normal pace, she drew her fingers back. “You’re still wearing the bracelet,” she smiled. 

“Of course I am.” What exactly did she think he would do with it? A handmade bracelet from her— it was _priceless_. He reached across the small distance of the table, his heart racing madly, to push the cuff of her sweater back. A second handmade blue and yellow friendship bracelet that looked the exact same as his revealed itself beneath the white yarn. “And you’re still wearing yours.” 

Sandor ran the tip of his finger over the braided threads, the heel of his hand brushing against the back of hers. 

“Of course,” she said quietly, and he looked up to see a lump fall down her throat. 

His heart stopped; was she uncomfortable? Had he made her uncomfortable? Could he have been reading all of these signs— her invitation, the two hearts and an _xox,_ her small touches— wrong? He pulled his hand away gruffly and set his trained eyes onto the pool of hot chocolate in his mug. In his peripheral vision he could see her fingers on the other hand smoothing over her bracelet. His heart ached, and several other parts as well after their activities outside. 

After a long moment, Sansa cleared her throat. “Would you like to go back outside? And we can go up to the bunny hill and practice up there?” 

“All right,” Sandor agreed, even though he didn’t want that at all, really. He didn’t want that any more than he would’ve liked to walk with her over to one of the big leather couches by the communal fireplaces and cuddle for a while. Not any more than he would’ve liked to munch on candy canes and walk around the resort, hand in hand. But this was what she wanted, it seemed, so they dressed themselves up in their big coats once more, grabbed their snowboards, and headed outside where Sansa directed them towards a spray-painted sign that said ‘Ski Lift’. As if it wasn’t already obvious that it was a fucking ski lift. 

While they waited in line, she went through the technicalities. “One foot stays locked in; wait for the chair to scoop you up; keep the guard bar over you; make sure to place your other foot on the board to skate off when the chair drops you free.” That sort of thing. He wasn’t really listening, because her gloved fingers had found their way to his arm again and it was making everything so much harder to process; all he could think about was her hand touching the inside of his tricep, and…

“Sandor,” she squeezed, “we’re up next.” 

“Oh,” he breathed, his heart falling when she moved forward and severed their contact. Recovering, Sandor staggered forward with his free foot while the other attached to the board, which lingered stiffly between him and made his gait morbidly uneven. 

He made it to where she waited on a thick line on the ground, and watched as a conveyor-belt-sort-of machine swept around slowly and headed towards them. 

“Just make sure to sit when it comes to pick us up,” she said. 

Sandor glared at her. “Thanks,” he mumbled sarcastically. There was no indication of whether or not she noticed. 

The chair hit the back of his legs and they both sat down, being lifted off the ground before he had any time to rethink his decision. And then they were completely in the air, going higher and higher over the stark white snow and emerald pine trees while their legs dangled freely. 

Sansa reached an arm behind her. “I’m going to pull the safety bar over,” she said, then brought a thick black bar over their heads to keep them secure in their chair. He could still slip out if he wanted to, a notion which didn’t comfort him in the slightest. “And also,” she glanced at his legs, “you can rest your board on your other foot. That way your legs won’t get tired.” 

He looked over to see that half of her snowboard sat on her free foot, and he moved to mirror her. 

The wind was hitting Sandor’s face now that his snow goggles were lifted to his helmet (also an adjustment he’d made upon seeing her do it first), the cold air like sharp needles against his nose and cheeks. He turned to look at her while she talked about the ‘game plan’ for when they got to the top of the mountain to see that her cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold, but Sansa either didn’t notice or didn’t care. That wasn’t very surprising; she’d grown up in the cold. She’d grown up at this resort, basically, on these mountains. Being here with her was like being a part of her childhood, and it obviously made her very happy— which made his insides warm with a profound and unusual sensation. 

“...to put your free foot on the board and skate off to the side, where we can adjust.” She rubbed the safety bar through her mittens, “Sound good?” 

“All right,” he said, hoping he hadn’t missed any other crucial instructions while he’d been zoning. 

Sandor watched skiers and snowboarders skate beneath them for a while, moving in graceful spirals down the winding slopes, wondering if that’s what he was expected to do. The landing space came into view a moment later. There was a little shack in the style of a gingerbread house at the peak of the mountain where a blurred operator stood in a frosted window. Butterflies swarmed his stomach. 

Sansa lifted the safety bar over the heads and the metal clinked as it came into contact with the chair’s back. She unhooked the board from her leg and let it dangle once more. “The chair will slow down a little, but it’s not going to stop... so we have to get off pretty quickly. If you move a little closer to the edge,” she inched forward— too far forward! It looked like she was going to fall right off, he thought, and it was going to be a long way down!— but... she didn’t fall off. His heart raced. Heights, goddammit! No one had said that heights were going to be a part of this _wonderful excursion_. Surely there must’ve been another way to get up to the slopes that didn’t involve this moving death chair, like, perhaps, _walking_?

Sansa seemed to sense his trepidation. She placed her fingers on the inside of his elbow and he let out a breath. “It’s okay,” she said, “just a little closer. You won’t fall off; we’re just getting ready to be dropped off.” 

Sandor did _not_ want to move closer. He really, really didn’t… but he also really didn’t want to disappoint her, so he unfolded the board from his other leg and scooted forward an inch. And then a little more, gripping the side bar like his life depended on it. 

“All you need to do is put your foot on the board and stay balanced. Gravity will do the rest. And make sure to bend your knees, like we practiced!” 

The gingerbread shack neared closer and closer until the people in the chair right ahead of theirs were getting off the lift and skating to the side. And then they were up. Sandor’s blood raced through his veins as their cart approached the drop-off point. 

Sansa took her hand off of his arm. “Here we go,” she said, and a beat later he could feel the tip of his board scraping against the snow, pointing downwards towards a flatter spot of land.

They stood up off of their chairs and started off. Sansa skated like an angel over to a bench against the forest’s bright green edge. Sandor, however, wobbled badly as he glided over to her much too quickly for his comfort, his toe-edge pressed deep into the snow.

“Bend your knees!” she said, and he did— but it was too late. 

Sansa stretched her hands out like a parent reaching to catch a toddler, and when he got close enough, she caught his arms and tried to steady him. 

Unfortunately, upon their contact, Sandor’s snowboard slammed into hers and she wobbled back at the impact. She tried to grab onto him to steady herself, but he could hardly stand up on his own, and as she fell backwards, he couldn’t stop himself from tumbling over her. 

The toe-edge of Sansa’s board scraped into his shins when he crashed onto it, the thick pants doing absolutely nothing to soften the impact. Sandor’s hands landed in the snow on either side of Sansa, his middle collided with hers, and a moment later, the fronts of their helmets banged together. The wind had been completely knocked out of him. 

The sound of Sansa’s heavy breathing filled his ears. Sandor lifted his head to see that her mouth had fallen open, and when he looked up at her helmet, he noticed that her pink goggles had flown off behind her. 

He dropped his head down and let out a pained groan, whether at the sharp bite of her snowboard into his flesh or because her lips were so beautiful and because he really wanted to kiss her. Could’ve been either, really, but it was probably both. 

“Well…” Sansa pursed her lips, “at least you made it off the lift without falling! It’s usually as soon as beginners get off the lift that they fall but you didn’t,” her lips quirked into a timid smile. 

“A snowboarding virtuoso, then, wouldn’t you say?”

She laughed then, and her eyes were so blue against the snow. The tenderness that he felt at seeing her eyes glitter, at being this close to her— was nearly unbearable. That same stunning emotion that he’d felt minutes ago on the lift was back, and the suddenness of it was like a brick to the chest. For a moment he thought that he might scream, or swear, or cry or _something_ … but he didn’t.

He wanted... to kiss her. Yes, he wanted very much to kiss her, that was certain. And as he looked down at her soft eyes and at the stragliness of her hair, the slight twitch of her gently-parted lips— he almost let himself believe that she _wanted_ him to kiss her. He almost let himself believe that yes, her body language _did_ mean something very, very good! That all of her big smiles and all of her touches weren’t for nothing. That her pair of handmade friendship bracelets from three months ago, her two hearts and an _xox,_ the flower behind his ear— that all of that meant something very special and pure, a little something that she had reserved for him like he’d reserved for her. He really, really wanted to believe that, and she was practically inviting him to believe it with all of this attention!

But at the same time, Sandor couldn’t think of any logical reasons why any of that would just be for him. For all he knew, she could be signing everyone’s cards with two hearts and an _xox._ That could be like, her _thing_. She could’ve made friendship bracelets for everyone at the shelter, for all he knew, and maybe he just didn’t notice. And maybe she just fucking liked a lot of physical contact. God, Sandor hated those people— But not her. No, not her. 

He stared at her for a few long moments, unable to articulate what he felt as he tried to come up with poor excuses to stay on the ground like this for longer. Maybe he could say that he was stuck. Only then, of course, someone would have to get them _un_ stuck, and he would have to punch them in the face. Maybe... he could say that his kneecap shattered, and then she would probably panic like any normal person who was trapped under a very large man with a shattered kneecap, and that wouldn’t be very romantic, would it? Maybe... For the gods’ fucking sake, there were people gliding by on their fellow death traps, witnessing whatever this little situation was and probably misunderstanding it, and she was probably uncomfortable, and he knew he had to get up. 

With a frustrated sigh, he thrust his hands against the fluffy snow and pushed himself back. It took a few tries with the snowboard creating a very uncomfortable barrier between his legs, but Sandor was ultimately able to bounce up. He thought about reaching his hand out to help her up as well, but she’d gotten herself up before he even had the chance to offer. 

Wordless, they sat on opposite ends of the bench together to buckle in their second boot and then Sansa was up again, teetering back and forth between toe-edge and heel-edge playfully as she waited for him. 

This hill, to say the very least, was a lot different than the miniscule fraction of land they’d practiced their edges and turns on. He couldn’t even see the bottom of this trail, that’s how long and winding it was. Had she forgotten that this was his first fucking day of snowboarding? Sandor wasn’t any seasoned instructor, but he thought perhaps it was a bit much to expect a beginner to do something like this on the first day. 

Of course, he never said anything, seeing as risking his life while he spent the day with her was still better than spending the day at home alone. He let out another heavy sigh as he wiggled on the board to get it moving and tried to skate down to where she waited on the first stretch, hoping the trail was shorter than it seemed. 

He glided along the hill on his toe-edge first, keeping his arms stretched out for balance and watched her encouraging nods and smiles as he neared closer. If it was anyone else smiling and clapping at him like that, he would’ve told them to fuck right off. 

Sandor made it over to where she stood, twisting his board against the snow before coming to a wobbling stop. 

“That was so good!” she cheered.

He was so achey and frustrated, but the sound of her mittens clapping together made him weak, and his chest began to tingle. All he had to do was ask her to dinner, that’s all. If she said no, he would cope with medicine that came in sixteen-ounce doses, and he’d see her at the shelter. If she said yes... Sandor reeled, the thought was making his head spin. If she said yes, they would... go to dinner together. If she said yes, that would be a date. That was worth it, he thought. No more being a coward. He would ask when they got to the bottom of this godforsaken trail.

Sansa turned onto her heel-edge and skated along the next row, coming to a swift stop at the side of the mountain. She turned her head towards him, waiting for him to follow, and Sandor took a deep breath, remembering how lovely her hand had felt on his before he shifted forward, arms outstretched as he let the snow pull him and the waxy death trap attached to his feet towards her. 

They continued like that for a while, taking turns skating alongside the mountain. Sandor fell more times than he could count; he was going to need _several_ doses of pain medication later this evening, but it would be worth it, hopefully. More times than not, Sansa would be watching from the other side shouting things like ‘bend your knees!’ or ‘remember to look _up_ , not down!’ 

And the trail just seemed like it would never fucking end! It’s like the heavens knew what he was planning to do once they got to the bottom and were trying to tell him it was a bad idea. But he already knew it was a bad idea, and it was taking so much courage! If they didn’t get down soon enough, he might be too scared again to ask at all.

Of course, when they crossed from side to side, they were going at a slight enough angle so that Sandor wouldn’t gain too much speed and go rolling down the mountain like a beach ball, but at this point, it’d never fucking be over. The turns they took went by in their dozens, it seemed, and still the end of the trail was nowhere in sight. He wondered if she’d be averse to walking the rest of the way. Surely walking would speed this process along. 

“Sansa,” he mumbled when he made it over to her next, “about at what point are we through this trail?”

She glanced down the mountain. “Probably about halfway. Are you doing okay?” 

Halfway— 

_Half...way_? _Half_ -fucking- _way_? Was this some sort of _joke_? How could they only be halfway down after all this time

Sandor stared down the mountain with indignation in his eyes, his goggles turning the white snow yellow. _Just. Fine._

There was no way they were going to keep going like this for another forty minutes, assuming the second half of the trail was going to be as time-consuming as the first. No way. 

He felt sort of guilty for wanting to get off the mountain so soon, knowing that they were doing something that she really loved, but this just wasn’t his thing. Everything was sore _already_ , and what he really wanted to do was to just ask her to go out with him before his courage was entirely depleted, as it usually was when she was around.

If she said yes, he wouldn’t have to leave— they could still spend more time together down at ground level where he could breathe properly and where his feet weren’t locked onto a waxed board that _obviously_ had a grudge against him. They could walk around the resort, they could hang out in the lodge— for the gods’ fucking sake, they could run around the outsides of the overnight guests’ cabins and play ding-dong-ditch until a mob chased them out. Anything that didn’t include this seven-foot fucking board locked to his feet. _Really_ , he thought, _this could be some sort of torture device for the worst sorts of prisoners!_ — _or, a competition on those shows where players have to go through insane obstacles. Not something to do for fun on a Saturday!_

There had to be a way to speed this along, he thought, wondering how he would fare if he tried to go a little... _faster_. 

“Are you okay?” Sansa asked again, “Because we can take a break.” 

“No,” he teetered back and forth on his feet, “no breaks.” 

“If you say so.” 

Sandor wobbled his board to face the other direction as he prepared to turn the other way. To go faster, he was going to have to lean his body towards the bottom of the mountain at a bit of a sharper angle, but it was going to be worth it. They were going to get to the bottom of the trail in half the time, and he’d still have enough courage to ask her to go out with him. And maybe even kiss her... but that was a thought for when he wasn’t getting ready to throw himself down a mountain.

He skated as usual alongside the slope, though when he got to the edge, he didn’t stop like they’d been stopping each time. He didn’t twist the board into the snow to slow down. Instead, Sandor leaned in the opposite direction and began to angle the nose of his board the other way. He put his weight into his front foot, and it… worked! The board tipped the other way and he began to skate to the other side of the mountain. Two whole turns! A whole cycle without stilling once. 

From above, he could hear Sansa’s snowboard rustling softly against the snow as she came down to greet him. “Sandor,” she said, stopping herself on heels, a great smile spreading to her cheeks, “that was amazing!” 

Sandor beamed, feeling his face go red in a way that wasn’t because of the cold air on his skin. Her praise was just so intoxicating, he could listen to it all day, he thought, turning again and letting his board glide to the other side of the mountain. 

Only, now it wasn’t praise that was filling his ears, it was Sansa’s yelling. “Slow down!” she called.

His angle was too sharp now, the mountain was moving too quickly! The edge was nearing, Sandor realized, unable to see what was over it. He tried to twist his board into the snow, but nothing happened, he was just going too fast. 

Sandor spread his arms out, hoping that balancing himself would somehow be the answer and stop him from going right off the side of the mountain, but there was no change in his speed. He knew he needed to twist his feet into the snow, to push against the curve of the mountain and steady himself. He tried again, jerking the edge of the board into the mountain, but there was no change in his speed. 

“Sandor, stay calm!” she yelled, and he could hear that her voice was a bit closer now. “Just bend your knees and turn!”

He couldn’t turn!— he was just going too, too fast! The emerald pine trees were becoming bigger and bigger before him, the edge of the mountain closer and closer. Sandor tried again to jerk his board upwards a third time, but he only wobbled. 

He thought his heart was going to explode all of the sudden. This was how he was going to die? A fucking snowboarding accident? A snowboarding accident on his first snowboarding lesson, at Sansa’s parents’ ski resort? A lesson that he didn’t even really want to go to, but had only agreed to so that he could spend time with her? And he would never get to ask her to go on a date with him? No... that couldn’t be right, that was fucking ridiculous!

But that was sure what it seemed like. Sandor tried one last time to dig his snowboard into the mountain, but it was too late. The board flew over the edge of the trail, and his entire body with it. He shut his eyes, wondering if the fall was going to be hundreds or thousands of feet and what it would feel like. He’d never been skydiving, he thought as he plummeted, wondering if this is what it felt like, you know, before the parachute activated. 

He also thought, miserably, that he hadn’t even kissed her! Just one kiss would’ve been enough. And now he was going to die? On the fucking _bunny hill_ , of all places? That didn’t seem right at all. 

Sandor wondered helplessly what her kissed felt like. Better than the gentle comfort of her hand overtop of his, he could only presume. Just one little kiss! He should’ve done it at the top of this mountain, dammit, when their snowboards had gotten tangled up on the ground. 

And then… snow came up to catch him. Lots of snow. 

“Sandor!” he heard, but not as far away as he had expected. Really, he hadn’t expected to hear anything at all. “Sandor?” 

He pushed himself up with his hands. When he’d landed, a big mound of snow had fallen from the edge and landed on his head and chest. “I’m over here,” he said, shoving the snow off of his goggles and glancing around. He’d fallen into a fucking _snowbank_. 

Sansa appeared at the mountain’s edge, three or four feet ahead of where he sat. Not far at all, really. And he’d thought he was going to die, which was now laughable. _A snowbank_ , he thought again. 

She didn’t have a board strapped to her feet anymore, he noticed, and her hands covered her mouth. 

“Sandor,” she said, “are you okay?” Concern was visible in each of her features.

“Apparently,” he looked around again. Nothing had broken. Nothing even really hurt. He’d only fallen… into a snowbank, and he’d thought he was going to die. 

“Unhook yourself from your board,” she said. 

Sandor followed her instructions, reaching over to his feet and yanking at the plastic straps that locked his boots in. When the board was free, she stretched out her arms and he handed it up to her, then easily climbed over the small distance that he’d fallen from, dust-like snow shaking off of his chest. It was really nothing but a snowbank. His _bed_ was a farther distance from the ground than this.

As soon as he was properly on his feet again, Sansa’s arms flew around his middle, knocking the wind out of Sandor for the second time in the hour despite the gentleness of the embrace. He pulled his goggles off and leaned down to rest his head beside hers, alarmed by her proximity once again but not about to question it. 

The rise and fall of her breathing was heavy under his arms when he laid them beneath her shoulders. Sandor was content to stand like this indefinitely, but she pulled her face back from his chest. 

Her pink goggles dangled from a strap on the back of her helmet, and he was glad to see her eyes so big and blue after having been worried that he might not see them again. There was, however, a frown on her lips that made his heart ache, and he tightened his arms around her middle. 

Had she been scared... for him? That he was going to die. _He_ had been scared that he was going to die, but for her to be scared made him feel that unusual, fluttering emotion again. He wondered if this was a good time to ask her on that date. 

“Are you all right?” Sandor asked. 

“Are you?” She pulled one of her mittens off between them and traced a soft line over his nose, and then the normal cheek. Water dripped from her fingers as she traced them down his cheek. It was the snow melting, the pile that had fallen on his face when he tumbled into the snowbank. The unusual contact made him let out a heavy, involuntary breath.

“You’re so red,” she pointed out as she stroked his cheek, “are you cold?” 

Sandor opened his mouth to answer, nearly undone by the gentleness of her fingers on his face, frozen and horrified because no one had ever touched him like this before. He was going to say something, anything— dinner, yes. Words were... important in the communication game, he thought pathetically, unable to formulate a single sentence with her looking at him like this and _touching_ him like this. _Dinner_ , he thought, _I’ll be there, too_ _. Wanna go?_ Did it need to be anymore formal than that? Hopefully not. Yeah. That seemed good enough. 

Sandor frantically prepared to unearth his eloquent proposal, but before he had the chance, her narrow hand snuck around to the back of his neck and guided his head down closer to hers. 

Her other hand, still wrapped in a mitten, came onto the side of his face a moment before her lips came up to brush against his. 

A spike of lightning raced through him, starting in the back of his neck where one of her hands was, and spreading through his torso and each limb before climbing back up to his center. 

Sansa unhooked her lips from his after a moment, looking up for his expression, and the disconnection almost made him cry. He leaned in and placed the front of his helmet against hers, hugging her tightly to him and allowing their noses to rub together. Any weird variation of a dinner proposal that he might’ve been able to offer her completely disappeared out of existence. He really didn’t know how people did it— how could you look at someone, someone as pretty as her, and dare to ask them to waste their time on _you_? It was... a mystery. But then again, most people weren’t as pretty as her. 

_Fuck_ , he breathed, she was so close— he could smell her hair and taste her on his lips and feel her body heat through the baggy ski jacket. Sandor blinked. He must’ve looked like the biggest fucking idiot.

Sansa stifled a laugh behind her lips, both of her hands still on his cheek and neck, before she closed her eyes and touched her lips to his again. 

She pulled back just slightly after another moment, giggling at him once again as a heavy, ragged sigh broke free from his mouth. 

“Why don’t we walk down?” she asked, her narrow fingers toying with the tips of his hair as their bodies pressed together. “Instead of riding the rest of the way. I think you’ve had enough snowboarding for today, and there’s more hot cocoa in the lodge.” 

He was catching his breath and trying to force his radioactive heart to slow down, and she was breaking their embrace, reaching for his hand to lead him down the mountain. A group of people raced by on their skis and it was like a glitch before his eyes.

“Wait,” said Sandor, pulling his glove off to touch his lips, to make sure they were still there. She turned around and he gulped. “ _Doyouwantogetdinnerwithme?_ ” he choked, his chest _pounding_. 

“What?” Sansa asked, grabbing his hands. Obviously she couldn’t discern what he had said, or what he thought he had said. 

“I want to go on a date with you,” Sandor tried again, squeezing her fingers so that maybe his would stop trembling so much. 

Sansa ran her thumbs over his knuckles, her expression caught in some unsettled purgatory between a pretty smile and furrowed brows. “A _second_ date, you mean?” 

“What?” his heart stopped completely. “ _What?_ ” 

“This _is_ a date,” she said, chewing on her lip. 

“What?— No it’s not. You didn’t— I _definitely_ fucking didn’t— It is? A date? _This?_ ”

Sansa nodded. “Didn’t you see the hearts? The _xox_?”

_Did he see them._ Sandor almost laughed, only he couldn’t breathe. “Of course I saw them,” he huffed. “Nowhere did it say ‘p.s. this is a date’,” he pointed out. 

She shifted to the other foot. “Well, it’s a private snowboarding lesson, and I don’t instruct. I thought that it was implied...” she explained. 

“Oh.” If it was possible to feel any fucking dumber than he did right then— How could this have been a date? How could it have been a date when he didn’t even _know_ that it was a date? Fucking hell, how could he have not known this was a date? 

“Yeah,” Sansa said, continuing to stroke his knuckles with her thumbs. “So would you like to walk down the rest of the way? We can walk around the resort, or we can hang out in the lodge. Of course, if you _want_ to ride down the rest of the way—“

”No,” he said, picking his snowboard up off the ground. 

The sound of her laughter made his heart flutter. She started walking down the trail and he followed close behind, pausing after a brief moment. 

“Wait,” Sandor said again, and she turned. He wanted a kiss; he wanted to kiss her, like he’d wanted to do all day. He let his snowboard fall again, unmoved as it clunked into the snow, and pulled his helmet over his head, letting that fall next. Sansa only watched him, her snowboard still under her arm. 

He placed his fingers under the chinstrap of her helmet and undid the buckle slowly, watching her expression to make sure that she was okay with it. The helmet lifted off her head, and he placed it a bit more delicately onto the snow.

Sandor pulled off one glove, mirroring how she’d pulled off only one of her mittens, and lifted his hand a bit higher to stroke her cheek and her nose. Her arms wrapped around his middle, and he leaned down to kiss her, closing his eyes and weaving his other thick black glove into her hair. 

Just one kiss. Sandor pulled back after a fleeting moment, leaning down afterwards to rest his head against her shoulder again. Any more of her kisses and the walk down the mountain wouldn’t be very comfortable. 

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he mumbled against her. 

Sansa’s mitten-less fingers traveled up his back and found the tips of his hair again. “Come on,” she said, tugging at the ends, “let’s walk back down. I hear there are more kisses down at the lodge.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a very wild response to your prompt so I hope you enjoyed it, giftee! <3 
> 
> I also made this playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kFN1rBRpFO6vS19figNEi?si=cpwfp3mvQwiKcPezD9rkiQ
> 
> And this Pinterest board: https://pin.it/N2Qw0lP 
> 
> This fic? Definitely not me reliving the semester I spent snowboarding two years ago. Sandor skating off the mountain, thinking he was going to die and only landing in a snowbank? Did not happen, couldn’t have been me 👀 
> 
> ...yeah


End file.
